


just breathe

by emavee



Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood, CPR, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: “Just focus on breathing, ‘Wing. You’re gonna be fine.”Whumptober Day 13: breathe in breathe out
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948276
Comments: 15
Kudos: 205





	just breathe

“Just focus on breathing, ‘Wing. You’re gonna be fine.”

Tim holds Dick’s hands in his own. He’d originally grabbed them to keep them out of Jason’s way while he worked, but then he’d just never let go. He’s not even sure he can at this point, and if Nightwing and Red Robin weren’t wearing their gloves, Tim’s nails would surely be carving crescent-shaped trenches in the flesh Dick’s palms.

“What the hell else is he supposed to do, Replacement?” Hood snaps. “Cartwheels? A backflip? Maybe that quadruple somersault you’re so into?”

Tim glares at him. “I’m just trying to give him something to concentrate on. What, do you want him to  _ stop _ breathing?”

“You think I’d be getting my hands this dirty if I was willing to just let Big Bird keel over right here?”

“Stop,” Dick gasps out. “Fighting.” Just the effort of those two words alone sends him into a coughing fit. Blood paints his lips and sprays across Tim’s neck. He can’t stop from flinching back at the disgusting feeling.

“Way to go, Replacement,” Jason snaps. “You got him all worked up.”

“Me?! You—”

He’s cut off by the horrible wet choking noise that Dick makes when Hood pushes down harder on the hole in his chest.

“Ow,” Dick says weakly once he regains some semblance of himself. He’s gritting pink-stained teeth, every muscle in his jaw held so tight that Tim is worried he might crack a molar. 

“It wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t go and get yourself shot,” Jason says. He’s been seething openly from the moment the bullet had buried itself in Nightwing’s chest, loud and angry where Tim feels cold and a bit floaty. Like he’s dreaming. Like none of this is real, just another nightmare.

It wouldn’t be the first time Tim saw his various family members die in his sleep, but it is the first time he’s watched as his older brother drowns in his own blood. Why on earth did anyone think it was a good idea for the Nightwing costume to have less substantial armor than the rest of them? If he’s going to prioritize flexibility and maneuverability over protection, then the least he could do was actually dodge the stupid bullets. 

“Why didn’t you dodge?” The words slip out of him on accident, tumbling over each other in a panic. He’s shaking and upset but he’s not angry like Jason. He wishes he were. Anger sounds so much better than black hole that’s threatening to swallow him up.

“S’rry,” Dick manages. 

“Stop asking him questions,” Jason snaps at Tim. Then to Dick, just slightly more gentle, “Wing, quit talking. You gotta save your breath.”

Dick, the dumdum that he is, opens his mouth to apologize  _ again _ before Jason glares him into silence. For a split second he looks a bit sheepish, but then another blood-soaked cough tears its way up his throat and his focus pinpoints entirely on trying not to choke.

Tim feels helpless just sitting here and squeezing Dick’s hands, but there’s nothing else he can do. He’s already called for backup, and Jason is doing all the heavy lifting, pushing down on Dick’s chest with pretty much everything he’s got. They need help. They need  _ Batman.  _ They need Alfred and Leslie and real, actual medical supplies. 

Dick gasps, followed by a horrible gurgling noise. Tim wishes he didn’t know what was happening. Thinking about his big brother drowning in his own blood is too much. He wants to scream. He wants this to just be  _ over,  _ wants to just skip ahead to the part where he gets to grouch at Dick about going and getting himself hurt and then Dick will laugh and ruffle Tim’s hair and apologize and Tim will forgive him so long as he promises to never, ever do this again. He just wants to not be here, unable to do anything but watch Dick slip away.

“Come  _ on, _ Wing!  _ Breathe! _ ” Jason pushes down harder, causing Dick to whine just slightly in between desperate gasps.

“You gotta keep breathing, Dick,” Tim whispers to him. Dick isn’t really looking at him anymore, isn’t looking at Jason either. It’s a really, really bad sign. Tim snaps rapidly in his face, gaining his attention for just a few seconds before it slides away again.

“Where the hell is Batman?” Jason snaps. “We’re running out of time.”

Tim knows that, he does. But he really, really doesn’t want to believe it. Dick can’t die. He just can’t. 

“Come on, Dick,” he says, squeezing his hands even tighter. “Come on, you can’t give up. You have to keep breathing. You can’t just give up on us.”

Every rise and fall of the blood-splattered Nightwing symbol across Dick’s chest feels like a miracle, and one that is quickly dissipating. Every breath appears to be even more and more of a struggle. Dick’s hands have gone completely limp in Tim’s hold, no strength left in him.

One shuttering breath, chest barely moving. Then another, and another. Tim waits and waits, but suddenly there’s nothing. 

“Wing? Nightwing?  _ Dick? _ ” In comparison to the quiet of the rooftop, Jason must practically be screaming, but Tim can barely hear him. There’s a roaring in his ears that’s blocking everything else out. “ _ Fuck. _ I fucking told you to hang on!”

“Dick?” Tim asks. He’s not answering Jason but maybe… maybe he’ll respond for Tim? He has to try. He can’t  _ not  _ try.

Dick doesn’t move, just continues to lie completely and utterly still except for Tim shaking his shoulder. His head lolls slightly to the side with the movement and Tim fights back the urge to puke at how lifeless it looks. Like his head is completely dead weight, slack and boneless. He looks dead.

There’s no pulse beneath Tim’s fingers, no matter how hard he searches. 

Tim is ashamed to admit that it’s Jason who jumps into action first while he sits there, too shocked and frozen to do anything but stare.

“Take over here, Replacement,” Jason snaps, moving to start CPR.

Tim nods frantically, shifting on his knees to get a better angle and press down on the bullet wound in Dick’s chest. He does his best to not be in Jason’s way, but it’s hard not to be, their hands just inches apart. 

He finds himself staring at Dick’s pale face, unable to look away from the trail of blood that runs from the corner of his mouth, down his chin and onto the concrete. 

It’s not Tim’s first time seeing someone perform CPR—hell, he’s performed it himself multiple times—but it’s never been Dick before. This is his big brother, and watching him lay there, still and bloody, makes something crack in Tim’s chest.

Jason refuses to stop moving. He’s working almost methodically, but rages at Dick under his breath nonstop. 

“Wake the fuck up, Grayson. I thought you were supposed to be the fucking golden boy, yet here you are sleeping on the job. Fucking loser. Come on!”

It goes on and on, never ending, as Tim’s arms begin to shake with exertion and sweat drips down Jason’s forehead. Jason tears off his glove between rounds and presses shaking fingers to the pulse point at their big brother’s wrist. Each time he swears and Tim knows that Dick remains horrifyingly still beneath his fingers.

There’s still nothing, five, ten,  _ twenty _ rounds later. 

Jason keeps pushing against his chest.


End file.
